Voldemort's Return (And How Merlin Stopped Him)
by Souffle Girl in a Blue Box
Summary: Merlin comes to Hogwarts just in time for the Tri-Wizard tournament. Can he save Harry and stop Voldemort without revealing his identity? Also (disclaimer) I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR MERLIN.
1. Prologue

Prologue

For over a thousand years, Merlin had traveled alone. Given that his name "Emrys" means "immortal", it wasn't all that surprising. After Arthur's death on the shores of Avalon, Merlin had waited patiently for his return. Patiently until the 300th anniversary of the fall of Camelot.

On that day, Merlin decided to leave. If Arthur didn't want to return, that was fine by him. Merlin didn't have to wait like a lost puppy. With this conviction, Merlin departed. Rumors slowly reached him of a school to the north in Scotland. A school of Magic.

So, naturally, Merlin used a reverse aging spell and enrolled himself at Hogwarts. Every century or so he returned. Sometimes as a first year, but more often than not, 'transferring' to the school as an older student. This pattern remained unbroken and relatively uninteresting. That is until 1995. That year, Voldemort returned.


	2. Chapter 1: Merlin

Merlin was in South America deep within the Amazon jungle. Given this remote location, it was very odd to see an almost white owl swoop down and drop a rolled up newspaper on the ground next to him. Even more odd was the front page sporting a moving picture and advertising a large sporting event- the Quidditch World Cup.

Merlin had not step foot anywhere in the United Kingdom in over 50 years. The last time he visited was to protect the city of London from German air raids, and that was not exactly a pleasant experience. So, when he saw that England was hosting the Quidditch World Cup (for the first time in 30 years) he decided to attend. _Well, I can check up on Hogwarts again in person_, he thought. _Visit Dumbledore... and Harry Potter_.

Though Merlin was not the seer that Morgana had been, the Old Religion had granted him a limited knowledge of the future. He vaguely knew of young Mr. Potter's destiny. But, seeing that it was a VERY limited knowledge, Merlin had not decided to interfere. _After all_, he reasoned,_ the future will unfold how it wants no matter what I do. I've learned that the hard way._

Merlin then set down the _Daily Prophet_ and proceeded to Vanish all evidence of his camp._ I guess I'm done here_ he thought before apparating back to where his story had begun.

...

Meanwhile, an old man named Frank Bryce was murdered by the servant of the Dark Lord, and a young boy named Harry Potter woke up with a pain in his scar.


	3. Chapter 2: Harry Potter

Harry Potter was seemingly a normal boy. Seemingly. However, to a small, relatively unknown community, Harry Potter was a hero. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Harry Potter the wizard. Looking at this boy would not have turned up anything very unusual. Nothing except for the oddly shaped scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. It was this scar that Harry clutched in pain after awakening from his nightmare.

It was the middle of summer, Harry's least favorite time of year because he was away from all of his friends and everything magical. Harry tried (and failed) to remember his dream. After writing a letter to his godfather, the wanted escapee Sirius Black, Harry went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast where he received an unexpected surprise.

This surprise came in the form of a letter with an unusual number of postage stamps. This letter was from Harry's friend Ron's mother asking if Harry could go to the Quidditch World Cup with them. To make a long story short, Ron's family, the Weasleys, came and retrieved Harry and brought him back to the Burrow where they stayed until the World Cup began.

The day of the Cup began early. The youngest Weasley, Ginny, asked why so early.

"We have a bit of a hike. Not to the World Cup!" Mr. Weasley said, seeing Harry about to protest. "That's much too far away to walk. No, we will be-"

"George!" interrupted Mrs. Weasley. "What do you have in your pockets?"

"Nothing, Mum, it's -" George began.

"Don't you dare lie to me young man!" She then proceeded to Summon a ridiculous amount of Ton-Tongue Toffees that the twins, Fred and George, had slipped to Harry's cousin Dudley.

The group left quickly after that to escape the wrath of Mrs. Weasley.

"So how exactly are we getting to the World Cup?" Harry asked.

"Well," replied Mr. Weasley. " We will be taking a Portkey. An object that, when you touch it, can transport you to a desired location."

"And what kind of things can Portkeys be?"

"Well, they can be any sort of object, but... Oh here we are!" The group of Weasleys (plus Harry and Hermione) had arrived at the top of a hill.

"Good. We have 10 minutes." said Mr. Weasley, checking his watch.

"Is there anyone else taking this Portkey? asked Hermione.

"To my knowledge, only Amos Diggory and his son, Cedric..." He was interrupted by a shout from down the hill.

"Arthur! Glad you made it!"

"Amos! It's good to see you. Have you found the Portkey?"

Harry turned around to see a middle aged wizard with a beard along with a younger boy who looked vaguely famiar. Cedric?

"No. I haven't see it. We had better hurry and find it or we will miss it!" Amos Diggory said with a worried look. The group searched frantically over the hilltop. Several minutes passed until they heard a very unfamiliar voice call out.

"Were you all looking for this Portkey? The one to the Quidditch World Cup?"

...

Everyone stopped and turned to face the newcomer. He looked young-student aged- with dark hair and piercing blue eyes that reminded Harry of Dumbledore. He wore perfect Muggle attire, unlike most wizards trying to blend in, but still looked out of place. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Do you recognize him?" Ron muttered to Harry. "He looks like he should be at Hogwarts, but I've never seen him before. "

"Nope. I have absolutely no idea."

The boy looked uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny of everyone there. He was holding an extremely old moldy boot.

"Er, well, you might want to grab onto the boot. It's going to leave any second." the strange boy said.

Everyone else started and raced towards the boot. They were just in time, too, for no sooner had they touched the boot than Harry felt a weird tugging behind his naval and they were jerked away to their destination.

They were thrown unceremoniously on the ground, except for the newcomer who miraculously landed gracefully on his feet. The boy walked over and began helping the rest of them up.

"Who the bloody he** are you?" asked Ron, unable to contain it. "How come we've never seen you before? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?" The boy looked around to see Ron's curiosity mirrored on everyone's face. He shifted around for a few seconds as if deliberating before responding.

"My name is Milo Emerson."

...

**A/N I changed some (okay, most) of the dialogue here so it's not exactly from the Goblet of Fire. Just a heads up.**

**Also, to Doctor Frostybuscus, I'm not sure yet whether there will be romance. I'm really not that far along yet, but I will certainly take that into consideration.**


	4. Chapter 3: Unexpected Aid

Ron Weasley was not impressed. He stood and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at "Milo".

"That doesn't tell us who you are." Ron growled.

"I'm transferring to Hogwarts this year. I was homeschooled and traveling with my guardian, but he died. Now I'm coming to Hogwarts. I think I would be in ... fourth year?"

"Oh, really?" Ron continued. Hermione finally nudged him and shot him a significant look. Harry glanced nervously at both his friends and the newcomer.

"It's all right." Milo said, soothing Hermione. "I know it seems a little suspicious. I really did just transfer. Just in time, too, for the Tr-"

"It is very nice to meet you, Milo." Arthur Weasley hurriedly interrupted. "I know my son, Ron, is pleased to meet you as well." Ron wilted under the "parent glare". Fred, George, and Ginny hurriedly stepped forward to introduce themselves. Milo shook all of their hands. Next came Hermione who shyly took his hand. Finally it was Harry's turn. Though Milo seemed nice, Harry was tired of introducing himself and being fawned over.

"Er, hi. Milo, was it? My name is Harry. Harry-"

"Potter." Milo finished with a smile. That was the only sign that he recognized Harry as he did not glance at his scar. "It's good to meet you." Milo turned away to meet the Diggorys.

A wave of relief washed over Harry. Just being introduced as a normal person was such a welcome change that he almost didn't know what to do with himself. He was brought back to reality by Milo saying goodbye.

"My campsite is probably the farthest away from here, so I'd best be off. Maybe I'll see you guys later? If not, I'll see you at Hogwarts!"

A chorus of goodbyes followed him as Milo departed. When he turned around the bend and disappeared behind the first tent, Milo sighed. These were his first introductions under the name "Milo Emerson". Merlin (obviously) was now on his way to going back to Hogwarts. _Those people were...pleasant._ He reflected. _They were all friendly- well, except for that Ron fellow. But he might warm up a bit.._. Merlin was so lost in thought that he collided face first with Ludo Bagman.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Bagman." Merlin apologized quickly.

The former Quidditch player was attired in old, brightly colored Quidditch robes. Merlin could tell he was generally a very jovial fellow, but at the moment, worry lines creased his face and he was pacing back and forth muttering under his breath.

"Oh, dear. What to do? We can't very well- but if we- no. Urgh!"

"Um, sir?" Bagman stopped pacing for a second and looked at Merlin.

"Who on earth are you?" Bagman asked, brusquely.

"My name is Milo Emerson, sir." Merlin replied extending his hand. Bagman took it halfheartedly.

"Is everything all right?" Merlin asked.

"No! Everything is not all right!" Bagman exploded. "It was all going splendidly until the Irish Chaser, Moran, went and fell off his broom!"

Merlin was puzzled. "But surely that's not too uncommon?"

"It's uncommon to fall off a broom at 1500 feet in the air! It's a miracle he's alive! He only broke half the bones in his body!" Ludo Bagman suddenly stopped ranting. "Why the he** am I telling you this?"

"People like to tell me their problems," Merlin shrugged. "I just have one of those faces."

"...Okay." Bagman continued. "Well for some reason-and I don't know why in heaven's name this is-they have no substitute Chasers. Not one!" He stopped again and gave Merlin a once-over. "You don't happen to play Quidditch, do you? Or know anybody who could -"

"No, I can play Quidditch." Merlin replied.

"Well, you are a little young."

"I've been playing Quidditch longer than you'd think." _Boy is that the truth. _Merlin thought. _Much longer than you've been alive for sure._

"Hmm." Bagman looked thoughtful. "I suppose I could at least suggest it to the other players...yes. That's at least a start. You may just have saved the day!" Bagman started off in the direction of the stadium with Merlin in tow.

About 30 minutes later they arrived at a giant tent a few yards from the stadium. When Merlin entered with Bagman, he could see the Irish Quidditch players in various states of panic. Some were nervously pacing while others were collapsed and sobbing. Bagman walked up to a young woman on a couch with her head in her hands.

"Hello! Mullet! I may have found a substitute for Moran. This here is Milo Emerson." Bagman said, beaming. Mullet looked up at Merlin and frowned.

"But he's just a kid! Our team has worked too hard to be sabotaged by an inexperienced- urgh. Isn't there some other professional Quidditch player who could sub in?"

Merlin was mildly offended. Granted he was constantly being underestimated, but that didn't mean he was entirely used to it. Or happy about it for that matter.

"Listen, I'm a better than I look. You should at least give me a chance-practice with me once. And also, there is no other player you can use. They have their own teams, and you would need someone who had lived in Ireland for, what is it, ten years? I have. So, you can either give me a try, or give up and forfeit the game. I would advise you all to stop being dollop heads and at least try!" As soon as Merlin finished, he felt ashamed. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll just go-"

"No. You're right." Mullet stood up. "We do need another player and, if you think you can keep up and not be a hindrance, then we should give you a chance." Then she smiled at him. "Plus, we need a bit of fire on this team. Livens it up a bit. Come on." She gestured to her teammates. "Let's see how good this kid is."

Merlin was tossed a broom-a Firebolt- as he followed the Irish Quidditch players onto a smaller practice field a little further away. What am I doing? I haven't played Quidditch in years! Several other thoughts crowded into Merlin's head, but they immediately ceased when he took to the air. The team flew a few laps around the field before a Chaser, Troy, called Merlin over.

"Okay. Here's how this is will go. We are not going to ease you in. If you can't keep up, there is no time to teach you and we will have to forfeit anyway. If you do manage to be useful, then we may still have a chance at this thing."

Without another word, Troy threw the Quaffle into the air. Merlin darted up to catch it and then let his instincts take over._ Well, it's not a dragon, but...almost. _After only ten minutes, it was clear that Merlin had not exaggerated his abilities.

"Merlin's beard!" Bagman exclaimed as the team returned to the ground. The real Merlin cringed slightly. He would never get used to people using his name like that. "You really can fly! That was incredible! I'd say you're on par with Victor Krum! And you're still in school?"

"Um, yeah. I'm transferring to Hogwarts this year. I'll be a fourth year." Merlin tried in vain to redirect the conversation away from himself. He had never received this much praise. It was unsettling.

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! You have officially saved the entire World Cup." Bagman beamed and clapped Merlin on the shoulder before returning to the tent. Merlin's new teammates followed suit until Merlin stood alone on the practice field. _Well, this is definitely a first._ He thought as he walked towards the tent. _I'm playing in the Quidditch World Cup._

**A/N**

**Sorry for the long-ish wait. I've had finals... and such. I did manage to make this chapter a bit longer though! I will try to update within the next week. Did you catch the little Doctor Who reference? Anyway, thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 4: Mr I'm-freaking-spectacular

Around midday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves cooking sausage over a campfire with Mr. Weasley. They had set up two tents that looked inconspicuous on the outside. On the inside, however, they were almost as big as a house with several bedrooms and a kitchen.

The three friends listened politely as Mr. Weasley pointed out each person who passed by. From the Unspeakables working in the Department of Mysteries to the apparent "man of the hour" Ludo Bagman. Who, upon mention of his name, appeared out of nowhere.

"Ludo!"

"Arthur!"

"You seem very pleased with yourself this afternoon, Ludo." Mr. Weasley joked.

"I AM very pleased, Arthur. You do not even know how close we came to catastrophe today."

"Really?" Arthur Weasley looked puzzled. "How so?"

"Let's just say, you may not see all familiar faces on the Quidditch Pitch tonight." Bagman said slyly. He glanced at his watch. "But, I'd better inform the Minister of these new...developments. He'd have my head if it were a surprise tonight." With a conspiratorial wink, he Disapparated.

Harry glanced at his friends, hoping they understood more than he did. Hermione looked thoughtful, whereas Ron looked furious.

"What on earth was he implying? Are they changing Quidditch teams on us?"

"Nothing so drastic, Ronald." She said exasperatedly. "He only meant there were going to be substitutions. Probably only one substitution at that."

"But...but...how would they substitute a player? Who are they going to substitute?"

"I don't have all the answers! You are just going to have to wait until tonight like the rest of us!" Hermione huffed.

"Why don't we walk around?" Harry suggested. "We're bound to find people that we know. Plus, we can buy souvenirs."

Ron's face brightened, and within moments all traces of his previous anger vanished. Hermione sent a grateful look at Harry, and together they set out to explore.

A few hours and a few Galleons later, the Golden Trio arrived back at the tents.

"Harry! Thank goodness we found you three! It's getting late. We need to get to our seats." Mr. Weasley said.

"Where are our seats, Dad?" Piped Ron.

"Um, well," Mr. Weasley glanced down at the tickets in his hand. "I think they are in the top box-with the Minister of Magic."

Around him jaws dropped.

"No way!"

"That is too-"

"Freaking awesome-"

"For words!"

Fred and George Weasley finished their sentence with a grin.

"Hm. I'm glad you approve." Arthur Weasley responded dryly with a raise if his eyebrow.

The group followed Mr. Weasley through the campground, around the mob surrounding the souvenirs, and up the stairs to their box in the stadium. Harry slid into his seat behind Ron who was in deep conversation with Ginny, their trek up the stairs having rekindled curiosity about the mysterious substitute. Behind him, through the conversation between the British and Bulgarian Ministers of Magic, Harry heard an unpleasantly familiar voice.

"Potter. Weasel. How did you get up here? I can't imagine you getting a ticket. Did you miscount the stairs?" Draco Malfoy sneered.

"Just leave him." Harry whispered to his friend. "He's a git, but not worth it." Harry turned back to send a warning glare to Malfoy when he saw a small creature with big ears and a dirty pillowcase that had its head buried in its hands.

"Dobby?"

"Dobby, sir? Is you calling me Dobby?" The house elf whimpered.

Harry quickly looked back at Malfoy who did not seem to have heard them.

"Sorry. I mistook you for someone else. I don't know a whole lot of house elves, and you just look like-"

"I knows Dobby, sir," the house elf squeaked excitedly. "I is called Winky, sir. I knows Dobby. He talks all the time of you, Harry Potter. But Dobby is being a bad elf. He is taking his freedom to his head, sir. It is not right for a house elf!"

Harry notices the empty seat beside Winky.

"Are you here with someone, Winky?" he asked politely.

Winky looked terrified. "I is saving a seat for my master. Master Crouch told Winky to stay up here. Winky does not like heights, but Winky obeys."

Harry was about to reply when Ron nudged him.

"It's about to start, Harry. Look at Bagman!"

Harry did look at Bagman. The man in question had stepped forward and put his wand to his throat and whispered Sonorus.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The eruption of cheers throughout the stadium was deafening.

"Now, I'd like you all to give a big welcome...to the Bulgarian team mascots!"

"Mascots? What are the mascots going to be?" Harry questioned.

"They're usually magical creatures from their country of origin...of course. Veela!" Mr. Weasley answered with smile.

Harry turned his gaze to the stadium where a mass of beautiful dancing women captured the attention of every male in attendance. _They are so pretty. I think...I think they're waving me over! I have to go..._

"Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the fog of his mind. Startled, Harry glanced down to see that his legs were straddled over the side of the box. Had the Veela continued to dance, Harry and many others (including a very embarrassed looking Draco Malfoy) would have fallen off out of the stands (disregarding the charms to keep the spectators safe, of course).

"Well, that was...a wonderful performance by the Bulgarian mascots. Now please give a warm welcome to the mascots of Ireland!" Bagman's voice boomed across the stadium as a cloud of green erupted a few hundred feet in the air. Using the Omnioculars he had purchased earlier in the day, Harry zoomed into the cloud. He was greeted with the image of green clad men dancing in the air and throwing gold coins out at the spectators. The audience roared as they scrambled over each other to retrieve the Leprechaun gold.

The shower of gold eventually ceased, and Harry heard Ludo Bagman call for attention.

"It is about time for the match to begin, so without further ado, the Bulgarian National Quidditch team! Presenting- Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulkanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaaand Krum!" Seven red robed players streaked onto the field in a blur. Beside him, Ron was going crazy.

"It's Krum! Viktor Krum! He is just about, no he IS the best Seeker in the world!"

After a few moments, Bagman continued. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances, Stephen Moran will not be able to join his teammates tonight, so we have had a substitution." Ron elbowed Harry and have him a frantic look which Harry waved off. "So, I would like to present- the Irish National Quidditch team! Please welcome Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Emerson! Quigley! Aaaaaaand Lynch!"

At this point the seven green robed players joined their counterparts on the Quidditch field. There was some muttering in the stands about the unfamiliar name. Emerson. The Bulgarian fans dismissed it, thinking it would only help their team to have their opponents hindered by a newcomer. The Irish fans were worried for the same reason.

"Also, we have our referee-from Egypt no less- the Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

The referee walked out onto the field carrying a long box that held the balls. With a flick of his wand, the box opened and the game began.

Harry was stunned by the sheer speed of it. He was barely able to keep his eye on the Quaffle, and was only half listening to Bagman's commentary.

"Mullet! Troy! Emerson! Dimitrov- and Emerson steals the Quaffle back! Back to Troy! Emerson! Mullet!" And so it continued. The one part of the commentary that Harry did notice was that the name 'Emerson' cropped up more than any of the other Chasers. _Who is this guy_? He wondered. This thought triggered a memory.

"_Who the bloody he** are you?"_

_Ron's angry face, and the reply._

_"My name is Milo Emerson."_

_So that mysterious kid from the Portkey is the substitute Irish Chaser?! What?! And he's our age_. Harry's thoughts trailed off in awe. Though he had great respect for Krum who was the youngest professional Seeker, it was nothing compared to this Milo Emerson. A fourteen year old stranger who plays better than the best Chasers in the world!

The Irish team began scoring goals and everyone in the stadium quickly came to the conclusion that Bulgaria never had a chance. Emerson's addition had invigorated the Irish team. The Beaters were unstoppable, the Keeper unyielding, and the Chasers meshed together so well that the Bulgarians barely even touched the Quaffle. Despite Krum's impressive Wronski Feint and Lynch's incapacitation, the Irish team was over a hundred and fifty points ahead by the time Krum caught the Snitch, guaranteeing the Irish victory.

"It was brave of him to catch the Snitch now." Harry said to Ron. "Even though he knew they would lose." Ron could only mutely nod as he stared in awe at the Irish substitute.

"But-how-he-wow."

On his other side, Hermione looked calculatingly at the Irish team. Harry could see the gears whir in her head as she pieced together the truth (or what little truth they knew) about Milo Emerson.

A few seconds later, their box became very crowded as the Bulgarian team came entered. They were cheered by the crowd for their great effort. When the Irish team entered, however, the crowd was truly deafening. All of the players were grinning from ear to ear as they held up the coveted Quidditch Cup. Then they all banded together to lift Mr. Milo I'm-freaking-spectacular-at-Quidditch Emerson onto their shoulders.

Milo glanced over at the Weasley's group, caught Harry's eye, and smiled.

Harry returned the smile with his own. He was so happy that wasn't him up there. Now this kid knew what it felt like as well-to be praised by tons of people you have never and probably will never meet in your life.

After congratulating both teams and officially ending the game, Ludo Bagman turned around to pay the twins their money. Harry had no idea how Fred and George could have predicted that outcome, he figured that however it was, they definitely earned it.

When the commotion died down, Harry followed the Weasleys off the field and back to the tent. The twins were arguing with Ron about who was the better Quidditch Player in that game. The twins insisted it was the new guy, Emerson, while Ron (though impressed by Emerson) still believed Krum to be better.

"It's amazing that the kid we saw this morning is really a Quidditch player. I think I'll ask him about it in September. He must have some really good stories." Ginny interrupted their squabble with an air of nonchalance. Ron, who was probably the only one of the group who had not made the connection, was even more dumbstruck than he had been at the end if the match.

"Wait, wait, wait. That was Milo Emerson?!" He paled. "He's going to hate me! After what I said!"

Ron then turned to the twins who were fighting to keep their faces straight. "You guys are right. He is much better than Krum. I mean, he's four years younger!"

The discussion was interrupted again by loud bangs and Mr. Weasley rushed into the tent.

"Everyone outside. Come on! It's not safe here. The campground is being attacked!"

A/N

Just wanted to thank my brother who let me look up some things in the fourth book while he was reading it. Thanks buddy!

Also, I know I switched around a few events (making them happen earlier etc.). Yes it was on purpose. Not necessarily for some master plan, but on purpose.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
